27 September 2010

The Dog-Walker

Apologies, peops. Crazy September, but we shall be in full effect from now on.

Of the many side jobs I've had (fast food chains, retail clothing stores, erotic masseur), the most interesting was as a dog-walker. It's in demand. It's a necessity for some. It's a welcomed money making opportunity by me - and a piece of cake.

Typical interview process was meeting with the client and their pooch; talking about their needs and requirements; and playing with their dog to make sure they were comfortable with me and vice versa. Sometimes it didn't work out. One little guy was fine with me up until it went berserk when I was leaving - biting the shit out of my ankles. Most times it was as easy as a $20 whore.

One of my clients was a friend of "Dawson." "Dustin" was a wealthy guy with two poodles. Now, when I say poodles, you must be thinking cute, fluffy, white canines. Not the case. They were atrocious: grey from the lack of grooming, constantly reeking of dried saliva and poops. AND THE DINGLEBERRIES. Yack!
"Dustin" would call me when he was drunk in the city and could not make it home in time to take the kids on their scheduled walks. He had them on a 5am, 5pm, and 11pm walk routine. Heaven forbid I was a few minutes late; they'd be waiting for me by the door, wagging their tail with turd in mouth.

One afternoon, Dawson left me a voice-mail message and, with a panicked quiver, asked me to call him as soon as I could.

Me: Hey, what up?
"Dawson": "Dustin" is dead. He stumbled drunk down to the subway to get home from a happy hour and most likely to walk the dogs. He was in his work get up - fancy shoes and tie - slipped head first on the train tracks and busted his head open. They couldn't save him. His family will be contacting you to get his keys back.

His family did call me and gave me service times. I showed up to his viewing. When I walked through, I heard whispers of "is that the dog-walker?" After I paid my respects, his sister introduced herself. I introduced myself, extended my condolences, gave her his keys along with an awkward kiss and hug. She gave a hesitant smile.

As I turned to walk away, she stopped me with a "Hey?".

I turned around. She said with over-cried eyes: "Do you want the dogs?"

Point of the conversation: Opt for the Irish-goodbye.


- DeeCue

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